


Prove Them Wrong

by startrecking



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, mentions of drug abuse/addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 06:44:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6645649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrecking/pseuds/startrecking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows downing half a bottle of Jack and reminiscing about the past is the worst thing he could do right now, but he can't help it. Jeff is only human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prove Them Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the tumblr prompt by [milan-lucic](http://milan-lucic.tumblr.com): could you do a modern day carts/Richie where the kings are eliminated but the caps are still in the playoffs?

The soul crushing weight of defeat falls heavily on Jeff’s shoulder as the final buzzer sounds. The Sharks clinched the series against all odds, and it hurts so much more that they couldn’t even take it to six games.

Jeff has felt the dread of losses many times in his life, such is the way of a professional sportsman, but, as the Sharks pass him by in the line to shake hands, he feels like this is the worst one so far.

He know that the pain will pass in just a couple of days, that his focus will shift to next season and off-season training regimes, but right now he just wants to go home and down a bottle of Crown Royale without even bothering with a glass.

He’s halfway through doing just that when his phone chimes with a notification reminding him of the current playoff standings.

Jeff knows he shouldn’t look at it – knows that he should turn his phone off, down a couple painkillers along with some Gatorade and go to bed, but he has his thumb on the sensor before he knows it and– oops, it’s already open.

The Kings logo is faded out, the Sharks proceeding to the second round and leaving Jeff’s team in their dust, but it’s the other side of the bracket that he’s looking at. The Eastern Conference, a side that he wouldn’t even have had to worry about until the finals, where the familiar colours of the Philadelphia Flyers catch his eye.

And above that: The Washington Capitals.

_Mike’s team._

Jeff hasn’t spoken to Mike in months, not since he sent that text back in January when Mike signed with the Capitals.

The text that went unanswered.

Suddenly his thoughts fly back to the times when they hoisted the cup together.

Richie and Carts. Carts and Richie.

Those were two times when Jeff had felt absolutely invincible. They had been on top of the world, side by side as they had proved to the Flyers how bad an idea it had been to trade them.

And both times, after they got back home from the celebrations, they had fallen into bed together drunk on champagne and still buggy on the win. They had ridden the contrails of bliss far into the night until they both passed out from exhaustion.

In each other’s arms, warm and happy and at peace with the world.

Jeff has his messages open before he knows it, Mike’s number typed in from memory alone. At least, the number Mike had used when he was still in LA. Jeff doesn’t know whether he still has the same one.

He stares at the blinking cursor for a long time, eyes unwavering as it flashes at him, hypnotising.

He wants to say so much; apologise for what had happened between them, ask how mike’s doing, confess how stupid he had been, but instead he types out the only thing he remembers clearly from those nights after those two huge wins. The mantra they had said to each other throughout every playoff run they had had together, from minors to LA. The one sentence that had encouraged them to be better every time it was uttered.

_Prove them wrong._


End file.
